


i see a thousand years in your eyes.

by newlight



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26663902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newlight/pseuds/newlight
Summary: Misunderstandings are painful.Elbows touching. Shared glances. A roll of eyes and another bright, bright, so fucking bright smile. A secret language between people who have started from the concrete and took over the skies. Atsumu may not understand the intrinsic workings of what they are saying, but he knows what this means.There is no room for Miya Atsumu in Hinata Shouyou’s life.AtsuHina Exchange gift for xnandos !!
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77
Collections: AtsuHina Exchange





	i see a thousand years in your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yakus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakus/gifts).



> Hi xnandos !! i was your recipient for the exchange, and i absolutely loved all the prompts you gave. i am, however, a sucker for misunderstandings with a happy ending and ultimately decided to fulfill that one! i hope you enjoy this <3 
> 
> title comes from pink sweats' 17 !!

Atsumu is cursed.

Or so he says when he drops his phone the second he steps into the changing rooms allocated for the MSBY team, because standing in the center of the room with his shirt half-off is none other than Hinata Shouyou. 

Hinata Shouyou: boy, decoy, the unfulfilled promise Atsumu had made six years ago. 

_ I’ll set to you one day _ .

“Atsumu?” Hinata asks, or says, or something so sticky-sweet that Atsumu has trouble swallowing until Osamu’s digitized voice floats up from his left foot and admonishes Atsumu for dropping him. 

Atsumu blinks, having come to life now, and having realized in that short time of  _ IsHinataReallyHereOrAmIJustGoingCrazy?  _ that Hinata really was here, and that he was standing in the center of the changing room with his shirt half-off and shining with that Brazil sun he must’ve photosynthesized while he was gone, and that Atsumu needs to say something or risk looking stupid in front of the boy he’s loved for the past six years.

“Yes.” Atsumu crouches to pick up Osamu, who is looking straight at the camera while his hands busy themselves. He looks annoyingly pleased with himself. Atsumu wonders if Osamu had bargained with a god to set him up. “Shouyou… I didn’t realize you came back already. What are you doing here?”

And Shouyou smiles. One of those trademark  _ I swallowed the sun  _ smiles of his and says, “You’re looking at the newest member of the MSBY Jackals.” He finally slips his shirt off, and Atsumu sees it now under the fluorescent lighting. A contrasted 21. The signature claw marks. His last name in all capitals, bolded for the world to see. “So I guess you can finally fulfill that promise of yours, right?”

Atsumu nods, more so because his head is still spinning and as fast as he runs he still can’t keep up with the conversation. He has never, not once, forgotten about the promise he made to Hinata Shouyou after their first match. And something in his heart twitches, shifts a little, at the realization that Hinata Shouyou hasn’t forgotten about it either. He inhales, fills his chest with a little more air and then says, “I’ve gotta get going so I’ll catch you around.” in a single breath, before turning on his heel and running out of the changing room. 

And he runs, and runs, and runs until he is outside of the stadium itself and his legs hurt and his chest hurts and his head is spinning, spinning, spinning, and quietly, from his phone that he has been clutching like a lifeline, Osamu says: “Good job, dumbass.”

Atsumu ends the call.

*

Atsumu’s cursed life doesn’t end there.

On a chilly Sunday morning, Hinata invites him out for lunch. And normally, lunch would be exciting—he’s with Hinata, there’s nothing but a table between them and a couple years of baggage and maybe, maybe, the possibility of some love-strung confession, and  _ ideally _ , it would go like this: 

Atsumu: Hinata… I—I’ve spent these past few years head over heels for you. I love you.

Hinata: A-Atsumu… (And he’d swoon, or something similar to those shoujo mangas Atsumu would consume on a near daily basis back in third year of high school) I… Have feelings for you too.

And scene. They’d kiss, rejoice, enjoy each other’s company as a newly established couple. Except Atsumu has to remind himself that his life is cursed and life is rarely ever like a shoujo manga because God isn’t a sucker for romance but rather pain and humiliation, since the table is occupied by Hinata  _ and _ Tobio-kun, and they’re bickering like the married couple Atsumu wishes he and Hinata were.

Awkwardly, he takes a seat and laughs, pretends to be invested in their little argument until Tobio breaks away and has the  _ audacity _ to look somewhat startled at Atsumu’s appearance. “Atsumu-san,” he says. He slides the menu forward. “You’re early.” 

Tobio-kun sounds surprised by that. Like Atsumu could only ever be on time or late. He shrugs, tosses the pair a smile. “Or are you both just earlier than I am?” Except that makes no sense, and it’s evident in the way Hinata barks a laugh like the beginning of the sun’s creation. 

“You’re funny, Atsumu,” Hinata says.

Atsumu swallows that compliment like it’s water and he’s a beast in an oasis.

Moments later, Bokuto trails into the cafe with Akaashi, and the table of three expands to five, and Atsumu finds himself right next to Hinata, who’s sitting next to Tobio, who’s sitting across BokutoAndAkaashi because they come as a set. The empty table becomes full with everyone’s orders and the lunch ceremoniously begins like so: Bokuto and Akaashi share a plate together, Tobio eats something suspiciously milky-looking while Hinata patiently (and by patiently, Atsumu means the opposite) digs into his curry. 

And this is where he notices. Because Atsumu, unfortunately, is always noticing something when it comes to Hinata.

Elbows touching. Shared glances. A roll of eyes and another bright, bright, so fucking bright smile. A secret language between people who have started from the concrete and took over the skies. Atsumu may not understand the intrinsic workings of what they are saying, but he knows what this means.

There is no room for Miya Atsumu in Hinata Shouyou’s life.

At least, not in the way he wants.

The chair scrapes loudly. It takes Atsumu a moment to realize it’s him who’s stepped back, who has shoved his chair behind him. All eyes focus on him. The proverbial spotlight has found its target.

“I—I forgot I’ve got a delivery coming today,” Atsumu lies. He should be smacked for how easily he lies when it concerns Hinata. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t look over his shoulder, just forces his way out of the cafe until he’s spilled himself out on the busy sidewalk. He walks, and walks, and walks until a hand drops onto his shoulder and he’s forced to turn around.

“Are you okay?” Hinata asks, because of fucking course it’s Hinata.

How does he lie to the one person he’s been in love with since high school? Through his teeth? Or maybe with his palm covering his lips? Or even looking away, so he doesn’t have to face the consequences?

“I’m fine,” he says through his teeth. He looks at his shoes. “I forgot about my delivery, that’s all.”

And Hinata frowns, except he doesn’t see it. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me. We’re supposed to be friends, aren’t we?”

Ah. Friends. Of course. What Atsumu and Hinata have pales in comparison to what Hinata has with Tobio.

It has always been Hinata and Tobio. The freak duo from a school that had fallen from their kingdom in the sky. The freak duo that had built a ladder back to their throne. The freak duo who are only two sides of the same coin—a destined rivalry, a never-ending push and pull of improve, improve, be better. The freak duo who have taken the word  _ teamwork _ and reshaped her to mean  _ inherent,  _ a born pair. 

All Atsumu has is a promise that spans several years and a month and three days, with the seconds counting up from twenty. It simply falls short of what the universe has already handed out to Hinata.

So of course Atsumu and Hinata are friends. But that means Hinata and Tobio are something more.

Atsumu steps back. He chooses to wear a mask instead—dons a convincing tilt of his lips that doesn’t quite read like a smile and says, “Seriously, I’m cool. You should head back before everyone gets worried.”

He leaves Hinata on the street.

*

So you get your heart broken by the love of your life, except he doesn’t know he’s the love of your life, and Atsumu has absolutely no intention of ever revealing his hand.

He spends the next few days in his apartment, blasting YOASOBI and Kenshi Yonezu until his neighbors banged the wall in an effort to get him to shut up. But heartbreak is not a quiet thing, so he switches from blasting music from his laptop to using earphones on a volume that would have doctors cringing—and when he had exhausted that option and Sakusa had grown tired of texting him at exactly nine at night everyday asking him to show up to practice, he decides to show up.

The train towards the gymnasium is crowded on Monday mornings, especially in the morning.

*

“Atsumu!” Hinata calls out, except Atsumu flinches at that beautiful, pretty voice and sets the ball for Sakusa instead, who was most definitely not prepared to send it over the net. It hits the net, broken in its momentum, before hitting the ground with a few rolls.

Sakusa glares at Atsumu. “Hinata was open,” he says. His voice has sharpened itself into stalactite, pointed down towards Atsumu’s pool of stupidity. “You’re lucky this is only practice.”

Atsumu shrugs. “Didn’t think it was the best choice,” he says, and purposely turns so Hinata can’t sneak into his field of view. He senses a shift of presence behind him, like a split-second warning before a missile slams into one’s white picket fence yard. 

“Let’s just try this again,” Bokuto says. His voice washes over the court like an ocean wave at dawn, and tension visibly leaks out of the flooring. Atsumu shifts back into position, preparing himself for a 4 versus 4 that will no doubt stuff what’s left of his brain and his heart into the hollow bones of a building and send it tumbling to the earth again.

*

So Atsumu’s side loses. It’s no big deal. Atsumu can take a loss, or an L, or whatever people say.

What he can’t take is the way Hinata’s eyes settle on him as he becomes the last man in the changing room.

“See ya around, Hinata,” he says, shoulders his bag without so much as a glance in the other’s direction. It must’ve been the wrong move, because his back meets the metal of a locker door with a delicate slam, and he has now become the fox cornered by the crow.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Hinata suddenly asks, and he is a low simmer of anger and desperation tucked into the tiny, tiny pocket of a five foot eight figure.

Atsumu looks away because that is all he can do, because he is not Osamu who is unflappable in the flappable and he is not Bokkun who takes unfavorable situations by the throat and eats them for dinner. “I’m not,” he says, even though the two words crumble against his teeth like sand.

“You  _ are _ ,” Hinata presses. He treats his words like little knives, presses them into the skin of Atsumu’s neck, and in the brief respite Atsumu wonders where Hinata learned to wield knives like they were weapons instead of cutlery. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since I came back, and I—if I did something, will you please talk to me instead of avoiding me?”

Atsumu laughs, except it is hollow like the resting place of his brain and his heart. “I’m not avoiding you, I’ve just been busy.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“ _ You are.” _

“So what if I am?” Atsumu snaps. “So what if I am lying? It’s not like it’ll matter to you.”

“It  _ does _ matter,” Hinata says, and he is so persistent, arms still pressing up against his chest as he keeps him away from the door. “We’re supposed to be  _ friends _ and you’re treating me like a stranger, like I’ve done something wrong!”

“I like you too much to  _ want _ to be friends,” Atsumu spits out. 

And then he is mortified, and mortification manifests in the slow turn of his head, the meeting of sunrise to sunset in their eyes. “But you—you have Tobio-kun, and there’s never been any room for me, and I didn’t want—” he stops himself, turns that sunset gaze of his into moonlight. He shoves Hinata backwards, refuses to look him in the eyes because he is shaped like a coward instead of someone who can manage his own feelings. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Before Hinata can get another word in, Atsumu pushes past him and leaves. He has just ruined the best thing he’s ever had in his life. 

He has taken six years of knowing Hinata Shouyou and spiked it into a dumpster, and then set it on fire for some extra damage.

*

His phone rings nonstop for the entire hour and a half trip it takes to get himself home.

It rings nonstop when he throws it on his bed and disappears into the shower to sit under a steady, steady stream of water for an hour.

It stays silent for a blessed twenty minutes where he sits on his floor and contemplates being the stupid twin, the dumb twin, and whether it was too late or not to take this hunger of his and shape it from craving volleyball to whatever else is willing to be his calling.

He sits there, droplets falling from his hair and onto his shirt, until the doorbell and his phone ring at the same time.

HINATA:  _ Let me in. _

Atsumu reads the message twice and wonders what exactly he’s done in his entire life to deserve this. From outside, Hinata says, “Atsumu, I know you read my message.”

Atsumu stays quiet and doesn’t move, because he is Miya Atsumu and he copes by not coping. His phone rings with a message from Hinata:  _ I have a key and I’m not afraid to use it. _

He’d forgotten about the key. 

So Atsumu opens the door because he deserves at least some semblance of control in his life. “Let’s talk,” Hinata says, and Atsumu wishes he could bury his head in sand.

*

Hinata asks him three questions.

_ Question one: How long have you loved me? _

Answer: Since we first met six years ago. It was hard not to fall for you after our first match together.

_ Question two: Why’d you run? _

Answer: You have Tobio, and it just—I felt like I couldn’t measure up. So I ran, and I avoided you and I only hoped it would make the feelings go away but it didn’t. I’m sorry.

_ Question three: And if I told you I’ve loved you for three? _

Atsumu laughs, except this sound is not hollow or broken or a ghost on the shore. It is full. It is sunset vivid. “You’d have to be pulling my leg,” he says, leaning back against the sofa they’ve chosen for the Deep Talk of the night.

Hinata shoves Atsumu gently. “I’m not,” he says. “I’m serious.”

“I thought you and Tobio were a whole thing and a half.”

Hinata makes a face, like he’s eaten a lemon. “He’s been head over heels for Tsuki since our third year. We’re just close friends, which is why I guess”—he shoots Atsumu a sly grin and he feels like he’s been cornered again—“you thought we were dating.”

Atsumu’s cheeks heat up like a furnace stoked too quickly. He shakes his head, gaze drifting to the top of Hinata’s head with as much conviction as a sinner caught in the act. “I—I just assumed. So.”

Hinata breaks the bubble of Atsumu’s personal space like it is nothing but spider-spun webbing, shaking off the strands with barely a glance. This close, Atsumu can smell the scent of Hinata’s shampoo (something fruity and citrusy) and see the light reflected in his eyes (they shine like a tiny patch of the galaxy) and feel the warmth of his body. This close, Atsumu could kiss him.

“Can I kiss you?” Hinata asks, and Atsumu crumbles into his body like the beginning of the universe.

“Yes,” he says, and then repeats the word once Hinata’s lips have touched his—soft and sweet and the culmination of a six year long promise. He presses Hinata back into the couch, lines their bodies up together until something clicks like a lock and key, and he realizes as he melts into the sun that he is home. 

*

“How’d you know?” Atsumu asks one day.

They’re in the kitchen making pancakes, and Atsumu has been frowning over the same set of instructions on the box for longer than is necessary for something that is  _ boxed. _

“Know what?” Hinata asks, except it sounds more like a hum. He is leaning against the counter in Atsumu’s hoodie, and he looks like he belongs.

“That you loved me.”

The corners of Hinata’s lips turn up into a laugh. “Easy,” he says. “You were so selfless on the court, bending your body in weird positions just to give everyone the best toss they could hit, and seeing how you chose kindness just made me fall in love a little.” He tilts his head, dips his finger into the bowl of sugar they’ve prepared and licks it before adding, “and you kept going. You woke me up on the days I was late, you took the train with me to training even though you lived in the opposite direction, you came over in the middle of the night to kill cockroaches—before I knew it, I had gone from falling in love a little to falling in love a lot.”

Atsumu hides his smile with the box of pancake mix, but Hinata pokes the red of his ears with a grin. “I can see that, you know.”

“I know,” Atsumu says. He leans over the box, presses a quick kiss to Hinata’s nose. “Now help crack the eggs for me?” 

Once upon a time, Atsumu assumed there was no place in Hinata’s life for him. Beneath the dawn, he’s never been more glad to be proven wrong.


End file.
